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My son Max is three months old today. (Yea! We survived the first three months.) He has become fascinated with his hands, constantly attempting to shove them both in his mouth. When they are not in his mouth, he uses them to grab my hair. Of course, he has started this phase right when my hair has started the postpartum “falling out at the slightest provocation” phase. (Seriously, my comb is so furry when I comb my hair after a shower that I almost think it’s a fourth cat.) So now, in addition to the lint he usually accumulates in the palm of his hands somehow, they are also covered with drool and usually clutching a strand or two (or more) of my hair. Pretty picture, right? Actually, yes. It’s the most beautiful picture in the world. (Although I do try not to sniff his hands too closely at times.)

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I burnt my shoulder with the hairdryer. Ouch. I don’t know how people stand it who get burns over large portions of their bodies when even a little one smarts so much. I guess they stand it because they have to. My first post-baby alcoholic drink can’t come soon enough. For now, I will settle for ice cream with chocolate sauce.

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who waits as long as she possibly can after a hair appointment before washing her hair, in order to preserve the hairstylist’s handiwork for as long as possible? That first post-styling wash usually either makes me anxious or depresses me. Not only am I reminded that I just cannot replicate the results my stylist achieves, even when I buy the same products and tools, but my hair usually freaks out after being cut and looks worse than usual. It takes it about a week to recover. I have to admit, I have opted for somewhat dirty hair before rather than face that experience.